Damn Near Impossible
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: Draco tries to win Hermione Granger's heart... but it ends up being kinda hard. And he was like, "Take that back!" And I'm kind of a badass, so I was like, "Make me!"And he was running out of ideas, so he was like, "Go snog a Mudblood!" Narrated by Draco.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement is intended. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and I am in no way affiliated with her, and I definitely am not her._

**Damn Near Impossible**

See, my only real issue with Gryffindors is that they don't like Slytherins very much. So making them fall in love with you? Damn near impossible. This is all Blaise's fault, the git.

He was all, "I'm the Slytherin Prince!"

And I was like, "Yeah, no, that'd be _me_."

And he was all like, "Well _I'm_ the Slytherin Sex God!"

And I was like, "Dude you're a virgin. We sleep in the same dorm."

And he was like, "Well, _you're_ a whore!"

And I was like, "No I'm not!"

And he was like, "Yes you are!"

And so I was all, "Your _mom_'s a whore, Zabini!"

And he was like, "Take that back!"

And I'm kind of a badass, so I was like, "_Make_ me!"

And he was running out of ideas, so he was like, "Go snog a Mudblood!"

And so I was all spiteful, like, "Maybe I _will_!"

And he gave me that look and was like, "Maybe you _should_!"

And I realised I was probably gonna have to, so I was like, "Maybe I don't _know_ any!"

And he was all, "What about _Granger_?"

And I kinda missed what he was getting at, so I said, "What _about_ her?"

And he totally knew what he was getting at, so he said, "Betcha can't snog her!"

And asking questions defiantly makes you look cool, so I asked, "How much you wanna bet?"

And he's loaded to he was like, "Thirty five thousand galleons!"

And I was like, "Ok, and if I don't I'll give you..." and then I had to think about it for a minute, and I said, "A pair of _Ginny Weasley's_ underpants!"

And he started cracking up and shook my hand.

And then I realised that I'd just agreed to something.

God, Zabini's mom is _such_ a whore.

_**~x~**_


	2. Plan A

_**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement is intended. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and I am in no way affiliated with her, and I definitely am not her._

**Plan A:**_** Potions Partners**_

This morning I saw Granger in the hallway and I smirked at her. She rolled her eyes at me, because she think she's special. That's not really her fault, though. I'm pretty sure anyone I smirked at would feel pretty special.

We have potions this afternoon, so I'll probably make my first move then.

_This Ellipse Exists Solely To Signify The Passing Of Time; Thank you_

I strode up to Snape like a panther strides up to a gazelle—_sleekly_.

"Good morning Professor," I said. I've always liked him. He's a good friend of my father's, and he recognizes what a prick Potter is, and he greases his hair like I do. Except, I usually slick mine back. I think he puts too much gel in his, and that's why it hangs there unattractively. That or he's using the wrong stuff. I use Sleek-easy's, or something like that. I don't like reading, so I rarely read the labels of things unless they're dangerous. Anyway, I like Snape, even if he greases his hair wrong.

"Morning, Mr Malfoy," he replied. His voice is kind of creepy, but that's ok, because he's a death-eater, and those guys are all pretty creepy. Especially my dad—he's so cool.

"Professor, I was wondering," I bit my lip, faux-sheepishly, and he totally bought it (that's another reason why I like him), "When you assign partner's today, could I possibly be put with M-" I was gonna say 'Mudblood,' but I thought that would be pushing it, so instead I said- "Miss Granger?"

Snape glared at me, and I started liking him a little less. "Why?"

"Because, Professor, Crabbe keeps spilling things on me."

"You could work with Mr Goyle?"

"Him too," and then I lowered my voice, "I think the other Slytherins are jealous of me, Professor," he looked like he was gonna say something slimey, so I added, "I'm sure _you_ of all people understand what that's like, sir."

"Yes," he said, nodding greasily, "Yes, of course."

Then he called the class to order, and I sat down at my desk. I tried to act casual, but it's hard to act relaxed when you know a mudblood is about to fall unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you.

_This Ellipse Exists Solely To Signify The Passing Of Time; Thank you_

As soon as she started putting the newt's eye in, I knew I'd done it. I couldn't help it being so easy, I was just brilliant. You know, some people really fail to realize it (usually it's boys) but I'm really a true romantic. I just have a way with the ladies. All the ladies. Even the Gryffindor ones.

Like every time she reaches to an ingredient? I make sure I do at the same time, so we'll brush hands. She's reaching for some right now...

"Malfoy!" she hissed at me, checking me out with her glare.

"Yeah, Granger? Got a problem?" I'm kind of the baddest boy in the dungeons. I'm pretty sure she could tell.

"Yes! Yes, I _do_ have a problem! Please, explain to me exactly _why_ you keep adding twice as much to the potion as we need to?"

"Because," I answered smoothly, "You're a mudblood." After that she pushed the boiling cauldron over on the desk. It burnt my leg pretty badly, and she started apologizing, and treated her like a total asshole because that's what girls like.

Right now I'm in the hospital wing, and I'm pretty sure she's gonna come bursting through the doors any second to give me some clumsily-hand made apology card stained with her tears.

_This Ellipse Exists Solely To Signify The Passing Of Time; Thank you_

Well, my first plan, apparently, didn't work. But that's because Potions aren't romantic. I forgot. I mean, if potions were romantic, then love potions would be legal, but they're not, so clearly the ministry was against me with this one.

But I have another plan.

**~x~ **This Squiggle Actually Indicated The End Of This Chapter; Thank You For Reading **~x~**


	3. Plan B

Disclaimer:_ Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you._

**Plan B: **_**Closet Companions**_

You see, the problem with my last brilliant plan was just that potions aren't romantic. Neither is class. So, I asked my gorgeous self, what_ is_ romantic?

And then it hit me. _Broom closets_.

All I had to do was figure out a way to get Granger into a broom closet with me, and surely then, being in such close proximity with a demigod like myself, she'll realize how madly in love with me she is. Because, you know, she's obviously already in love with me, it's just that she doesn't know it yet. I don't blame her, if I didn't know better, I'd say it would be pretty ridiculous for her to aim that high herself. Luckily for her, there are bastards like Blaise Zabini about to make her wildest dreams come true (though, of course, like always, _I'm_ the one doing the hard work.)

**xElipsex**

You know, some people don't realize just how useful Crabbe and Goyle are. Goyle, for example, has a great right hook. Crabbe, on the other hand, doesn't mind being transfigured into a little girl. Sometimes I wonder how practical their talents are in every day life, and then I remember that they've never experienced every day life. They've been blessed with an extraordinary life as my best mates, lucky bastards. Why, if I weren't me, I'd probably want to be my best mate. But I guess you are your own best mate, so it's really a win-win-win for me, isn't it? It is.

"What do I have to say again, Draco?" Crabbe asked dumbly, looking up at me with clear admiration in his eyes.

"Just say, 'Miss, some big mean Slytherin boys locked my cat in a closet, and I couldn't get the charm right to get them out! I don't want to tell a teacher and be a tattletale—could you please open the closet door for me?' then tug on her robes until she follows you to the closet. Got that?"

He didn't answer because he was too busy thinking of how extremely genius my plan was.

**xElipsex**

After a bit of a wait, I heard voices outside. One voice was a cute little girl's—that was Crabbe's, I deduced smartly—the others was a girl's around my age—hopefully that was Granger's, though I can't say I'd have minded if any girl in our grade ended up in here at this point... well, except maybe Eloise Midgen, or Millicent Bullstrode. I have standards, you know.

"There, it's unlocked. You know, alohomora is a really simple spell, all you need to remember is-"

"Could you pretty pretty pleeease get my kitty out, too? I'm afraid of the dark, and the closet is really dark and scary."

"Alright."

In an instant ugly Granger was in here and the door shut, locked, behind her. Merlin, I'm so clever.

"Malfoy? What're you doing in here? Do you have that poor girl's cat? That's really low, Malfoy, even for you!" her face was red, maybe with anger, probably because we were so close. Well, it was actually a larger broom closet that I'd thought, seeing as they have to fit brooms in it and all. Being the brilliant, spontaneous person I am, walked forward until there was only about a foot in between us. I'm pretty sure after that point that she was blushing entirely because I was invading her personal space.

"Malfoy! Answer me!"

I graced her with another step closer. And another step. There was a passion in her eyes that was highly evident. She reached down, probably to undo her robes. I smirked. Except then she reached back up, and she was holding her wand, and suddenly she was hexing me.

Can you believe it? This girl was lucky enough to find herself in a closet with _me_, and she hexed me!

**xElipsex**

Well, so much for that plan, but at least I know where I went wrong. The lighting in that closet was awful. My hair needs just the right amount of sunlight to sparkle like a winter's day, and without enough light it's hard to see how many deep, swirling emotions fill my pools of liquid silver (eyes).

In any case, it doesn't matter, I have another plan.

**xThanks for Reading!x**


	4. Plan C

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way affiliated with her. This is not a profitable work. No copyright infringement is intended. Thank you._

**Plan C: **_**Battling Bogart**__**s**_

My last plan was really flawless, except for that she couldn't see how handsome I was in the dark of the closet. So, to solve this, I decided to stage my next plan someplace where I'm given a flattering light.

I was thinking about flattering light, see, when I decided maybe Granger needed some help to see who I truly am. You might find this hard to believe—if you do you're probably not attracted to males—but although I look frosty on the outside, I'm warm and squishy on the inside.

I would go so far as to say I'm beautiful inside and out—especially outside. But inside, too. I've done loads of really great things, it's just hard for people to notice with St. Bloody Potter marching around.

And then it hit me, like a Quaffle to the gut; I need to act like Harry Potter.

So, it turns out that Polyjuice Potion isn't real. I know, I know, I thought it was real too, but then I tried to make it and couldn't, so obviously the damn things broken.

That's alright, though, now I don't have to think about looking like Scarface anymore. Honestly, the more bloodied up and stupid that dolt acts, the more people seem to love him! Dumbledor, the crotchety old nutjob, probably put love potions in the pumpkin juice—that's why I only drink pumpkin juice from my own personal flask.

You know, as one of this generation's most brilliant minds, I've got to say that I've really outdone myself this time. This plan is sure to work.

Here, I'll explain, try to keep up, would you? Thanks, I know how hard it is to understand someone as brilliant as I do—no, that's a lie, I always understand everything perfectly. Except transfiguration, but that's only because I don't feel like it.

Anyway, step one is getting a bogart. This step was pretty easy, because I found one just the other day when I was doing my routine searching through Theodore Nott's stuff. Did you know that guy collects stuffed owls? Those really fancy ones with the shimmering glass eyes? Honestly, some people waste their time completely.

Step two is letting it loose on Granger. Should be pretty easy, she's always alone in libraries and places.

Step three is my favorite step, when I jump in just like St. Potter, except if Potter had amazing good looks and a dashing sense of humour, instead of messy hair and a sense of right and wrong.

I heard her scream. It was a delightfully fulfilling sort of scream, really, the sort of pure terror my Father always talks about. My Father is the very best in the world at scaring people, even better than Voldemort! See, Voldemort died or whatever and quite scaring people, but my Father has been scaring people his whole life, and he's never taken a break once! He has a whole album full of people being scared of him—you should see Mum's look at the wedding! Terrified!

Anyhow, I ran into the corridor with the speed and grace of a majestic purebred horse, wand raised delicately in my right hand.

Poor Granger, she totally missed it. It was a great entrance, too.

She was too busy looking at Professor McGonagall, who was shaking her head and giving her that awful look she does—you know the one, where she sort of squints at you, her eyes darting up and down a bit, and she purses her lips, and those lines show on her cheeks, she and sort of tilts her head down but draws it back at the same time, like to get a better look at something disgusting. Yeah, that look.

"...worthless. Don't know why we believed you could ever do well. Dreadful. Zeros on all your exams. Did you even try, Miss Granger? Or maybe you were trying your hardest, you're only a mudblood after all..."

I sort of forgot to run forward and save her at this point, but McGonagall's use of that nifty word rather caught me off-guard. It seemed to make Granger brighten up, though—probably because it reminded her of me, and I hand a tendency to inspire strength in others—because after that she shouted, "Riddikulus!"

Professor McGonagall was holding a large pile of awards and trophies, offering them up to Granger like some sort of house-elf.

I knew I had to act fast if this plan was going to work. So I ran forward, past a stunning Granger—I am rather stunning, aren't I? I am—and towards the icky bogart.

Professor McGonagall changed into a really handsome, older version of me, with really long, shiny hair and a cute little cane.

"Malfoy?" Granger whispered from behind me, but I ignored her. I was too busy looking at the bogart. Why was it my father? I wasn't afraid of him, silly bogart!

Perhaps, I considered, the bogart knew it couldn't scare me, and decided to surrender.

"Stupid, pathetic, foolish boy," my Father began. I sort of fell to my knees, but only out of habit, I knew this obviously wasn't my real Father.

"Malfoy..." Granger murmured again, but I still ignored her, and so did fake-Father.

"You're truly worthless, aren't you? I should of just adopted a house-elf, he'd be far less disappointing. Maybe he'd actually win a Quidditch. Maybe he's score better than a nasty little Mudblood. Maybe he'd want to become a DeathEater and serve the dark lord, like his father. Maybe he wouldn't be a whiny little sod who nobody can stand. Maybe he would be an embaressment. Maybe he'd be able to make smarter friends than Crabbe and Goyle. Maybe he'd..."

I must have sniffled, or something, because Granger seemed to be under the impression I was crying. Stupid Granger, letting her imagination run away with her. She probably wanted to turn this into some moronic hurt and comfort story about healing me with her love, or sommit like that.

So, I thought everything was going well, except then my Father changed into McGonagall giving awards again, and I sort of let Granger drag me off somewhere. She tried to get me to talk about it, though. Which was stupid, because there wasn't bloody anything to talk about! It wasn't my real Father, and I didn't start actually crying, so why should it matter to her?

She kept patting my back and stuff and finally I'd had it so I told her she was crazy and there was nothing wrong with me and I ran off.

She's probably still there right now, crying because, once again, she's realized she can't have me.

That's alright though, because, luckily for her, I'll come up with an even better plan soon. One that doesn't even almost involve crying.

~x~

**AN:** Thanks for reading! Sorry, computer hadn't been working for ages. Happy early Kwanza, early Christmas, late Hanukkah, super-late Eid al-Adha, or whatever you celebrate in late fall early winter!


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